Help Me, Doctor
by SonicPushOver
Summary: Elliot Honing was a mostly normal girl. She was quiet, not many friends. She was an American living in a small basement apartment on her own in London. Her parents had died long ago, leaving her on her own. She was sent around foster homes until she was left in London. After giving directions, Elliot meets a man in a tan coat, who keeps reappearing. 10/OC, Future appearances of 11
1. Chapter 1

The TARDIS shook violently, whirring and hissing. The pumps in the green tube in the center moved up and down, much faster than usual. The Doctor grabbed onto the control panel, hitting buttons and pulling levers. His eyebrows were knit together in concentration as he tried to stay up on his converse-clad feet.

Two minutes previous, he'd just been taking off from the year 3062. He wasn't sure why he was there. He sort of just landed there. So, thinking nothing of it, he left. Then- BOOM!- the TARDIS went crazy. It spin and shook and screamed at him.

A loud crash sounded and he knew he'd hit the ground. He fell back into the chair mounted to the floor. The lights went off, the large ship illuminated by nothing but the faint glow of the center tube.

The Doctor looked around, slowly standing up. The pumped still moved up and down, though very slowly now.

"Help me."

A voice filled the silence, a single voice with an American accent, seeming to be layered with the same voice, a semitone higher.

"Help me, Doctor."

"What? What is it?" He looked around, feeling up the control panel for the emergency lights.

"The snow, Doctor. Help me, the snow, Doctor. Why isn't it cold? Why is the snow not cold? Help me. Please. Help me. The snow. Hurry, Doctor, help me, please. The snow isn't cold."

The lights flicked back on and the pumps stopped moving. There was a spark and then the control panel began smoking.

"No! Agh!" The Doctor hit the panel in frustration. He coughed, waving away the smoke. "I just fixed that too..." He sighed.

Adjusting his coat and tie, the Doctor left the smoking TARDIS.

The air was icy and the ground was covered in snow. His breath came out in small puffs of air. He held out a hand. A snowflake landed in his palm, dissolving almost immediately. It was lukewarm.

Elliot Honing walked down the sidewalk. The air was icy and the ground was covered in snow. The sidewalks were coated in a layer of ice, which made walking quite nerve wracking.

She wore a long blue scarf around her neck and a gray knit slouch hat atop her long black hair. She also wore a pale gray peacoat, buttoned all the way up. Her legs were covered by thick black pantyhose, a short black skirt and white knit leg warmers. A pair of simple black frames sat on her flushed nose.

Her feet her wet and she was shivering. Her black converse were wet to begin with, not to mention not built for snow. But she managed, just like she did everyday.

Elliot took whatever life threw her way. Wet shoes? Fine. Low paying job? She'd deal. Terrible land lord? All good. Flooded house? No problem.

She sighed. She'd lived in many places throughout her life, and this was the worst. She loved London, but her house was awful. She lived in an unfinished basement on her own, struggling to pay for everything with such a low paying job. She worked as a cashier, but only part-time. She didn't go to school. No money.

She was heading off to an interview for a new job, hopefully something fulltime. She couldn't afford a car, or a taxi, or even a bike, so she had to walk. Which normally wasn't a problem. London typically never got very cold. 5 degrees Celsius at the very coldest. Snow was pretty much out of the question. Especially in August.

But, she managed, as she always did. After her parents died, she was on her own. Sure she was quiet and had no friends. She didn't mind, as long as she got through each and every day.

"Excuse me."

Elliot turned, pulling her scarf up over her chin. She was faced with a man. He was wearing a long tan trench coat over a brown pinstripe suit. His brown hair was styled forward. He wore a pair of white converse on his feet. His hands were in his coat pockets, probably to protect them from the bitter cold.

"What's the date today?" He asked in an English accent, which made sense, given the setting.

"The thirteenth of August, sir," Elliot replied, adjusting her glasses with a blue gloved hand. She spoke with an American, given that she was from New York. Not New York City, but somewhere in Buffalo.

"Right, thanks," he said nodding. There was a look on his face that the dark haired girl couldn't quite read. Like, it sort of looked like he was trying to remember something, but he wasn't sure what. "Where might I find the nearest bistro? There's one near here right? I'm sure I remember one around here somewhere..."

She nodded. "I can, uh, I can't show you, I'm going to walk right by it anyway."

The man smiled wide. "Brilliant!" He walked up beside her. He was almost a whole head taller than she was, so she had to tilt her head to look at him.

She began walking again, the man beside her. "So, where are you off to? Oh, and I'm the Doctor by the way." He smiled again.

"Elliot Honing," she replied, looking him over. He was definitely good looking, but far too old for her. He was older than twenty for sure, but he couldn't be any older than 35.

"Oh, Elliot, that's a brilliant name!"

Elliot blushed, pulling her scarf up to her nose. She wasn't very good at taking compliments. She tended to just brush them off. "I'm going to a job interview," she said quietly, answering his previous question.

"Job interview?" he asked, wrinkling his nose. "Why do you need a job? Shouldn't you be in school? What are you, 14? 15?"

She pulled her scarf up again. "I'm 15. And it's none of your business." Elliot didn't want people involved with her life. She didn't want pity, or anyone's charity. She could do it on her own, she knew she could.

"Well, alright, suit yourself." He stopped, placing his hand on the handle of a door. It was the bistro. Elliot opened her mouth to ask how he knew it was there but he'd already slipped inside.

'What a strange man...'


	2. Chapter 2

"Yes, I'm here for the interview? Elliot Honing?"

The lady behind the counter smiled. "Yes, of course, dear." She handed a badge over the counter. "Mr Kiel will call you in when he'd ready for you." She nodded and took the badge, taking a seat in a small chair in the building's lobby.

It was a large corporate building, about 15 stories. The lobby was very modern looking, the walls a pale gray and the floor covered in shiny white tile. There were black leather arm chairs and a small glass table with a bowl of white mints in it. Elliot resisted the urge to take one.

Looking around the room, Elliot pulled off her gloves and slid them into her pocket. She took off her scarf, folding it neatly in her lap.

She knew the odds of her getting this job was slim. She was barely old enough to be working. Sure it was only a secretary job, but there were better, older, people who could do it so much better than she could. But she got an interview, and that was always a good sign.

Nervously, she picked at her fingernails. It had been a nervous habit she'd developed years ago, not long after her parents died. There had been a lot of people that day. And the rest of that week. So many people, so many questions.

"Miss Honing?"

Elliot snapped out of her trance, looking up. A man stood in front of her, his too-thick eyebrows knit together in what appeared to be worry. His bright blue eyes sparkled like light reflecting off of a lake.

She stood, smoothing out her skirt. "Sorry, just a little out of it." She extended her pale hand. "Elliot Honing. It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr Kiel."

Mr Kiel smiled warmly, his thin lips meeting together loosely as he took her hand and shook it. "Please, call me Eric." He released her hand, gesturing down a narrow hallway, the walls lined with numbered doors. "Come with me, please."

Elliot nodded and followed behind him. Her heart was beating faster than she had realized and she wasn't sure if it was the thought of the interview or something else. Her stomach was in knots, pulling and squeezing, doing everything it could to tell her _'stop, danger!' _

'Just nerves,' she thought, taking a deep breath. She walked behind Eric, glancing up and counting the door numbers. _23, 24, 25, 26..._

When they reached door 32, Eric reached forward and opened the door, gesturing inside. "Ladies first," he said with that same warm smile. Elliot smiled tightly and walked in.

She sat down in front of the desk, shrugging her coat off onto the back of the chair. She wore a plain white tank top underneath of a black cardigan. She pulled the sleeves of her sweater over her hands out of a nervous habit.

"So," he said, taking a seat at his desk. The table top was littered with a random assortment of objects; papers, paper clips, single staples, an empty coffee mug, a rubix cube. She guessed she may have to clean it if she got the job. "You'd like to be a secretary?"

Elliot nodded, trying to swallow down the lump that was beginning to form in her throat. "Yes, well, money's really tight for me at the moment, and my current job is barely scraping me by."

"Do you live with your parents."

"No, sir."

"Family member?"

"No, sir."

"Friend?"

"No, sir, it's only me." She pulled at her sleeves. "I have a basement apartment."

Mr Kiel frowned, leaning back in his desk chair. "Just you?" He asked. "Do you go to school?"

"Um, so sir, I don't have the money." She looked down at her hands, picking at her jagged nails. "That's why I need this job."

He nodded. "You're a very troubled person," he said. "Aren't you?" He held his hand out to her. "May I see your hand?"

Elliot looked up, hesitantly placing her hand into his. Hers was small and pale in comparison to his. She was shaking, making it obvious how nervous she really was. She wasn't sure why, she'd had tons of interviews before this one.

Eric's eyes closed, as well as his hand around hers. "Oh yes..." Elliot shuddered as a chill shot down her spine. "You _are_ a very troubled person." His eyes snapped open, suddenly violet irises drilling into her head.

Her chest squeezed, seeming to block her airways. She heaved, trying to scream or make some sort of call of distress, but nothing came out. Black spots danced across her vision as she found herself slowly losing consciousness. She could see an evil grin on his lips, purple lines spreading from his eyes like little cracks in his face.

A wheezing breath escaped her lips before her eyes fluttered and she swayed and feel from the chair. She barely saw the door swing open by a figure in white converse before she passed out.

The Doctor sipped at his tea, one leg crossed over the other. It was such a lovely day. He couldn't imagine anything possibly going wrong.

Though, he found himself thinking, there was that strange Elliot girl from earlier. She was so young, 15 only, and applying for a job. She seemed to be very defensive when it came to her personal life. From what the Doctor could tell, it was just her all alone.

He shrugged, continuing to drink his tea. The café he was in was quiet, only a few other people, though almost no one spoke. A few read, others typed away at their computers. The Doctor just looked out the window at the sky, the cars passing on the street...the snow falling...the warm...snow.

The man jumped up from his seat, knocking his chair over behind him. Tea spilled out over his cup. All eyes turned to look at him. Slowly, he placed the cup down and reached for his chair. "Sorry," he apologized, setting his chair back to where it was. "Sorry." He cleared his throat, looked around, then bolted out of the shop.


	3. Chapter 3

"Oh, yes, sir, very sorry, please go right in." The lady pushed her glasses up her nose. "Room 32."

"Thank you."

The Doctor folded his leather wallet and placed it back into his inside pocket. 'Psychic paper,' he though, a small smile on his face. Barely a smile.

He turned the corner and began to walk down the narrow corridor. The walls were lined with doors, each numbered with a swirled gold script.

It took his a few minutes to find door 32, as it was further down the hall than he expected it to be. But, not hesitating a moment, he pushed the door. It swung open and he saw exactly what he'd expected;

Elliot was curled up on the floor, unconscious. Her face was covered in boxy purple lines, glowing as if it was cracked and there were a light inside of her head.

A man sat at a desk. His eyes were bright purple, the whites now a dark black. His face was covered in similar lines. A black forked tongue flicked out between his blackened lips. He held two fingers to his forehead and saluted. A pair of black wings sprouted from his back, tearing through his suit jacket. The Doctor lunged over the desk to try and grab him, but was much too late, as he had already exited through the window, sending shards off glass everywhere.

Quickly giving up on that, the Doctor knelt down in front of Elliot. Her chest was moving up and down, quickly, in sudden jolts. He knew he had to work quickly.

He slid his hand under her head, lifted her up into a mostly upright position. "Wake up," he whispered, tapping her cheeks with the back of his hand. "Come on now, I can't do this unless you're awake."

And, though not expected, her eyes opened. They were purple, like the other guy's, except they were different. Her irises her completely gone, her full eyeball a solid purple. Purple liquid spilled out over her cheeks like tears. Her head hung back, supported only by his hand, like she still wasn't completely conscious.

"You remember me right?" He asked, smiling slightly. "I'm the Doctor! Alright, so I'm going to help you, but you're going to have to not freak out. Okay?" He didn't get an answer, though he expected that. But, regardless, a Doctor's gotta do what a Doctor's gotta do.

He closed his eyes, took a breath and pressed his lips against hers. Almost immediately he could feel whatever venom she'd been infected with rush out of her and into him. He could feel her tensing up in his arms. He pulled back from her.

She looked at him, her eyes wide, still purple. They flashed something, just for a moment, something gold before returning purple. Quickly, they faded back to normal and blinked shut.

Elliot sat up, rubbing her eyes with her palms. Flakes of dried purple flicked off her cheeks and into her hands. She raised an eyebrow, but quickly shrugged it off.

Her green eyes looked around the room. Her room. Well, mostly her room. Her bed, her blankets, her desk, her closet, everything hers except for the giant blue "police public call box" in the corner.

Confused, she slid herself off the bed, not even surprised when her feet hit water. There was always about a centimeter of water on her floor. It was the whole reason she didn't have carpet. And why everything was up on high shelves.

She walked across the cold floor, her bare feet sloshing water around, as they usually did. She took no notice, she was way too focused on the blue box.

Elliot reached forward, brushing her fingers along the painted wood. She pressed her ear against the door, listening for something. She wasn't sure what.

Pulling away, she hesitantly reached one hand forward and wrapped it gently around the smooth metal handle. She took a step back and pulled. Nothing. She pulled again, only harder. Then she pushed. Nothing. It was locked.

Sighing in defeat, she turned and sat back on the bed. She pulled her leggings, skirt, and cardigan off. Her feet waded through the water to her dresser where she dug out a pair of green booty shorts. She only ever wore them around the house, they were way too short for her comfort zone.

"This sucks," she muttered, kicking the water on the floor. She pushed her fingers back through her thick hair before pulling it up into a messy bun. She adjusted her fallen tank top strap before exiting the room.

"How did I even get here?" she wondered aloud, now frowning. She walked passed her "living room", which was really just a couch pushed up against the wall, and into her kitchen. It wasn't closed off from the "living room" and it had the ugliest appliances. Her fridge was white and dirty, the counters a weird floral pattern. The sink was small and the faucet was starting to rust. There was an old microwave sitting on one of the counters.

She pulled the fridge door open. "What even happened?" She pulled out a carton of eggs, then closed the door and turned around. A man stood. He was tall, wearing a brown pinstripe suit. There was a trench coat discarded onto the couch behind him.

Elliot screamed and dropped the eggs. She pressed herself back against the fridge, grabbing the nearest thing to her, which, comically, was a frying pan.

The man held up his hands in defense. Elliot held the frying pan up in a similar manner. "Who the _hell _are you and what are you doing in my apartment?" She demanded. Her voice was shaking, as were her hands.

"You remember me," the man replied. "The Doctor! The good ole' Doctor." He offered a smile. "We met a few days ago. You were heading to a job interview...?"

Elliot knit her eyebrows together in thought. The frying pan hung at her side. "Mr Kiel...?" She asked, mostly to herself. "Doctor?" Her head snapped up. "I remember now!"

The frying pan fell to the floor, splashing water up onto her legs. Her hands came to grip the sides of her head as a sharp pain split right down the middle. "Argh!" She grabbed her hair, crouching down and leaning back against the fridge.

The Doctor walked over. He was still wearing white converse, though they were now soaked through with water. She felt his hands on her shoulders. He was looking right at her. "It'll be over in a moment," he said calmly.

And it was. It suddenly stopped. But then she coughed. Fortunately, she brought her hand up just quick enough to cover her mouth. She coughed once, and when she pulled her hand away, her palm was covered in some sort of sticky, gooey, purple substance. "Gross," she whined, wiping it instinctively onto the Doctor's arm.

He didn't seem to mind, which definitely confused Elliot.

"Just as I thought," he said, standing up. He poked at the goo, which his coat was now covered in. A glob came off on his finger. He sniffed it. He put it in his mouth. He made a face, as if it were sour. Elliot watched him, a look of utter confusion and disgust on her face.

"Incubus."

"What?" Elliot asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Mr Kiel. He was in incubus." He walked around the kitchen, pulling open cupboard and rummaging through them.

"Isn't that something that has sex with women while they sleep?" She asked. "And stop messing up my tupperware."

The Doctor pulled out a small round container. "Perfect." He scraped the goo off of his arm and into the container. "And no, that's not.

"An incubus is a creature that feeds off one's troubles. He poisons them, and then feeds once they're dead."

"Because that's so much better," she replied sarcastically. "So what you're saying is that had you not come in, I would've-" she stopped, her eyes going wide. "Wait a second. You kissed me!" She grabbed the frying pan and held it up to his face. "You kissed me!"

His hands went up again, one still hold the purple goo container. "Yes, well, I had to. It was the only way." He pushed the frying pan away with one finger.

She glared at him, dropping the pan to her side. "Sure."


End file.
